CHAPTER THREE — THE BLACK GATES OF DESTINY
889 Words
(Ella’s POV)
The mountain rose before us long before the palace did — dark, jagged, and stretching into the clouds like a sleeping beast. The closer the carriage moved, the quieter the world became. Even the insects stopped singing.
It felt like we were approaching something sacred
…or something cursed.
The Seer finally lifted her eyes from the shadows.
“We have arrived.”
But I didn’t understand what she meant until the carriage turned around a final bend, and the world opened.
There it was.
The Obsidian Palace.
I had heard stories, of course — everyone had. But stories do not prepare you for seeing something that shouldn’t exist.
The palace was carved directly out of the black mountain itself, like the cliff had cracked open and decided to become a home. Its walls shimmered like polished stone but also breathed like something alive. Great columns twisted into spires, crowned with silver metal that caught the moonlight in a strange, cold glow.
My breath caught.
It didn’t look built.
It looked awakened.
The carriage slowed. The horses grew uneasy, hooves scraping the stone ground.
“Why is it so… dark?” I whispered.
“Magic,” the Seer answered. “The palace feeds on it. It always hungers.”
My heart dropped.
We stopped before massive black gates twice the height of any village house. Runes pulsed across the surface, glowing faintly, as if recognizing something—or someone.
The Seer stepped down first. A guard opened the door for me.
My legs trembled as I climbed out.
The air here felt heavier.
Thicker.
Sharper.
Like the mountain itself was watching.
“Stay close,” the Seer instructed.
I did.
Not because I trusted her—but because I feared everything else.
As we approached the gates, the runes brightened. The guards pushed, and the massive doors opened with a deep, thunderous sound.
Inside was a long corridor glowing with torches made of blue flame. They didn’t flicker. They didn’t burn. They simply existed, steady and unnervingly silent.
My footsteps echoed.
We walked until the corridor split into three paths. At the center stood a tall woman dressed in black armor with gold markings along her arms. Her hair was braided tightly, and her eyes were sharp enough to cut stone.
When she saw me, her lip curled.
“So this is the Seventh?”
The Seer bowed slightly. “Yes.”
The woman looked me up and down, slow and unimpressed, as if expecting someone stronger, taller, more powerful.
Instead, she got… me.
“What is your name?” she demanded.
My voice almost failed, but I forced it out.
“Ella.”
She clicked her tongue. “We will see if you survive the first night, Ella.”
The Seer shot her a warning look, but the armored woman smirked and stepped aside.
We continued walking until we reached a circular chamber with a high domed ceiling.
And that’s when I saw them.
The other six.
They stood in a half-circle, all wearing deep royal colors and fine fabrics I had never seen in my life. Their marks glowed softly under the torchlight—blue, silver, red, white, violet, green. Each mark was different, unique, mesmerizing.
My own faint golden mark felt suddenly small, quiet, unworthy.
All six girls stared at me.
Some curious.
Some cold.
One openly disgusted.
A tall girl with braided gold beads stepped forward, eyes narrowing.
“She’s… ordinary,” she said.
Another girl scoffed. “The mark must be fading. They’re desperate.”
A third whispered, loud enough for me to hear, “She won’t last a week.”
My chest tightened. My cheeks burned.
This room was full of daughters from wealth, training, legacy. I was a girl from a broken-roof house with nothing but hands that stitched old boots.
The Seer raised a hand for silence.
“She is the Seventh,” she declared. “And the Trials begin at dawn.”
My stomach dropped. Dawn? Already?
But before I could speak—
Before I could even breathe—
something happened.
My mark burned.
A sudden, sharp heat shot across my collarbone, so bright and fast that I cried out.
The room gasped.
Golden light burst through my skin, glowing far brighter than in the village.
The six girls stepped back.
Even the Seer looked startled.
I clutched at the mark, trying to smother the heat.
Then a voice echoed from above us—deep, cold, powerful.
“What is happening in my hall?”
The guards bowed instantly.
The girls stiffened.
The Seer lowered her head.
And I…
I froze.
Because standing at the top of the stairs leading into the chamber was a man dressed in black robes with silver threading, his face half-shadowed by the dim torchlight.
The King.
His eyes—dark, sharp, almost inhuman—locked straight onto me.
The entire palace fell silent.
But something shifted in his expression.
Something dangerous.
Something almost like… recognition.
He stepped forward.
Slow.
Focused.
Predatory.
And in a voice that chilled the air, he whispered:
“Her mark… it matches mine.”
The chamber erupted.
But I couldn’t speak.
Couldn’t breathe.
Couldn’t think.
Because the King was right.
A glowing symbol shimmered faintly at the base of his neck—
the exact same crown-shaped mark as mine.
- Writer
